Hello all! I come bearing the fruits of my labor! One chapter of PoV, coming up! Special thanks to my beta, mnwugn86 (aka Acorn-san), for his assistance, encouragement, and guilt-inspiring questions on my progress. All hail A-san! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!
Happy reading!
Saturday, August 29: West Wing Library
I saw Pansy in town today. (Yes, I went anyway. What were you expecting?) Anyway, her parents are going away the night before we leave for Hogwarts, and she wants to spend the night at the Mansion. I told her that would be fine, to come over at six, and that we would provide dinner.
A few hours later, I thought that I might need to actually ask my parents.
With this task in mind, I began my trek to the North Wing, where my father resides. You know, Malfoy Mansion is a nice place for those individuals who can Apparate, but it obviously was not made for young wizards like myself. It takes nearly an hour to get from wing to wing, if you don't use the transporter cabinets in the kitchen. They're there so that the servants can get to you quickly, when you need them. I'm not supposed to go into the kitchen, of course, but surely they don't expect me to walk!
On entering the study, I saw that my father was seated casually on his desk, looking over a very large piece of parchment with what looked like a magnascope.
"What are you doing?" I couldn't help asking.
"Hello, Draco," Father said, without looking up. "I'm looking over your Uncle Monty's will, to see what he's left us."
"Uncle Monty died?"
Why hadn't anyone told me? I didn't even know he was sick! I wondered why he hadn't been at the reunion but… Well, honestly, I didn't care enough to ask about it. Now I'm feeling vaguely guilty.
"Well," Father circled something at the bottom of the will. "He is alive, but only in the sense that he can't be legally buried."
Ah. Sorry I asked.
"I see."
Then I remembered my reason for coming. But before I could even mention Pansy, a flurry of blue robes, which turned out to be Mother, came rushing in.
"Lucius," she said breathlessly. "Something terrible has happened! We've forgotten Fudge's birthday! People are already talking! We'll never live it down!"
Father shook his head.
"Not a problem. I've already sent over Montgomery's furniture."
Okay, Uncle Monty hasn't even been dead a month, and Father's already giving away his things. Does anyone find this a bit strange?
"Oh. That's good," Mother said, looking relieved.
And then, much to my chagrin, the conversation turned to me.
Mother: Speaking of birthdays, I know someone who's going to be eleven soon!
Father: Who? Your niece Rosette? That was last week.
Mother: No. Draco! (to me) Your birthday's September 13th, isn't it?
Me: Uhh…
Father: No, that's your father's birthday, Narcissa. Draco's birthday is May 26th.
Me: Actually…
Mother: That's my birthday, dear.
Father: Oh. Are you sure?
Mother: Fairly, dear. Well… huh. When is Draco turning eleven?
Father: I always thought it was a spring birthday. Is it a spring birthday, Draco?
Mother: No, Lucius. Draco's birthday is in the fall, right honey?
Father: No, it's-
Me: (unable to take any more of this) It's November 18th. I turned eleven last November 18th.
Both: Oh!
We stood in silence for a moment.
Mother: Well, I think we missed your birthday.
Me: Yeah. You did.
Father: Oh. (not sounding very sorry) Sorry.
Mother: I'm sure you're not terribly scarred.
Me: Actually, I think you've done permanent damage.
Father: (indifferently) Have we?
Me: Yes. Honestly, I think I'll have to tell somebody about this. Emotional support, you know. Wonder how Fudge is at counseling…
They stared at me, understanding for the first time that I was a SLYTHERIN. As in, I will do anything to get what I want. I tell you, blackmail is a beautiful thing.
Father: So, how would you like Ingleside Manor for a present?
Me: (incredulously) You're giving me Uncle Monty's house?
Father: Sure! I got my first manor house when I was about your age. I'll even let you hire the staff and everything. Would you like that?
Would I! I think I'm going to call it "Castle Draco"! And the fountains will run thick with chocolate! I will build my own Quidditch pitch out back! The servants will address me as Lord Malfoy! Or Your Gracious Highness! All hail King Draco!
Me: It'll do.
Father: I'm so glad. That reminds me, Uncle Monty's memorial service is on the 1st, so we'll be leaving on August 31st. We won't be seeing you off this year, but I'm sure Madam can handle it.
Me: (visions of manor houses dancing in my head) Uh huh.
I forgot to ask him if Pansy could stay, but they'll both be gone anyway. Besides, it's not like they care. Sadly, Monsieur Tyran will be watching us. Joy and rapture.
So, today I learned to balance a spoon on my nose, finished my essay on witch-hunts, and got a house! All in all, I'd say it was a considerably productive day. Wouldn't you?
Sunday, August 30: The Classroom
This is getting ridiculous. Would you believe that Dobby is gone again! Father is furious. I can't help but find this whole thing hilarious. I mean, really, what is he thinking? Okay, stupid question. The answer would be nothing. Stupid elf.
The funny thing is, I
Never mind, then. I have to go. Curse Monsieur Tyran for taking up my free time!
Monday, August 31: My Room
I love Pansy! I mean, I really, really love her! If I, as I expect, am forced to marry her, I will probably not object! (After all, who else am I going to marry, right? Why not do what my parents want and marry Pansy? We could have two or three little deranged munchkins running around, shouting about evil plots and so-and-so stole my hair care products. Just taking a look into my future, here.) Suffice to say, tonight went quite well.
It all started about six o'clock, when Pansy came prancing into the foyer of Malfoy Mansion. On arriving, she immediately stacked her bags into Monsieur Tyran's arms (unfortunately, the rumors proved to be false, he still has all his appendages). She then snapped her fingers and ordered him to take them to my room. This amused me greatly, just let me tell you.
Pansy: Take my bags up to Draco's room.
Tyran: (sounding offended) Excuses moi?
Pansy: (slowly, as if he were very stupid) Take- my- bags- to- Draco's- room.
Tyran: Mademoiselle, je-
Pansy: Halt den Munde. ((Shut up.))
Did I mention that Pansy spoke German? Well, she does. Luckily, so do I, because that meant I could enjoy this great conversation. Just so you know, Monsieur Tyran does not speak German. It's great! This entire conversation may be lost in translation, but believe me it was hilarious!
Tyran: Que? ((What?))
Pansy: Sie sind ein Idiot. ((You are an idiot.))
Tyran: Je ne comprends pas. ((I don't understand.))
Pansy: Ihre Mutter ist eine hure. ((Your mother is a whore.))
Tyran: Mademoiselle, je ne parle pas allemande. ((Miss, I don't speak German.))
Pansy: Halt die klappe Affe. ((Shut your trap, ape.))
Tyran: Que dis-tu! ((What are you saying!))
Pansy: Non, non. Il n'y a pas de quoi. Imbecile. ((No, no. It's nothing. Idiot.))
Tyran stared at her for a moment, then threw down her things and stormed out, screaming obscenities as he went. Luckily, I managed to muffle my chuckles until after the doors closed, and then both of us burst into peals of laughter. When I finished wiping tears from my eyes, I had to thank her for roughing him up for me. After all, I've been wanting to all summer. (The closest I got was the Wrath of the Mini.)
"No problem," Pansy said, patting me on the head. "Nobody gets to bully Draco Malfoy but me."
(About the head-patting thing: People keep doing that! Why? I know I'm short! Why rub it in!)
On our way through the kitchen, towards the transporter cabinets, one of the house-elves scurried up.
"Please," It said, looking so flustered that I thought its head might explode. "Bippy cannot let young masters in kitchen. Bippy will have to iron her hands!"
She paused, giving us a pitiful look.
"Not that Bippy does not have to iron her hands every day, even when she has not done anything wrong."
She sighed a bit more deeply than was necessary.
"But Bippy, sir, Bippy is used to such ill treatment."
Pansy looked down at her for a moment, obviously surprised at the fact that a house-elf was actually whining in her family's presence. (It's Dobby's influence, I know it!) Then, she did a very odd, very Pansy-esq thing. She put her thumb and pointer finger together, leaned down so she was level with the house-elf, and began rubbing her fingers together.
"You know what?" She said. "This is the world's tiniest violin, playing the world's saddest song just for you."
Bippy the house-elf just stared at her, mouth open wide, obviously thinking, "This is not helping me in my oppression!" Pansy then straightened up and swept past her. The house-elf was too busy being shocked/offended to even stop us.
Pansy can get away with so much more than I can! I think it's the "cute, but psycho" thing. You know, she walks in wearing her pink, lacy clothes with some huge bow in her hair, and everyone thinks "Aww. What a sweet little girl." But then they look her in the eyes and see that they glow with some kind of demon life force. After that, they just back away slowly. I kind of wish I had the power to intimidate instead of infuriate. I get beat up a lot more.
We spent most of the night playing Exploding Snap and complaining to each other about Potter, our parents, Monsieur Tyran, etc. Then, late that night, Pansy suddenly stood up and asked where my mother's room was. It is, of course, in the South Wing, so we had to go through the kitchens again. I noticed Bippy the house-elf giving us a rather murderous look as we walked through, mumbling something obviously derogatory under her breath. Then, to my amusement, she turned around and ran head first into a wall. Now, you see! That's why house-elves should never forget their place. It just doesn't work.
We finally made our way into the huge, pink plush-covered Drawing Room that starts my mother's rooms, and Pansy wandered off into my mother's bedroom, telling me to wait for her. As I was waiting, I walked past a bookcase and found something quite frightening. My mother has built a sort of Lockhart shrine. And I'm not joking.
In a corner, there was a huge stack of Lockhart books. Sitting on top of them were several pink smoke emitting candles and pinned to the wall above the candles were Lockhart pictures. Tons and tons of Lockhart pictures, all winking or giving me the thumbs up sign. In the center of the pictures was Lockhart's autograph, written in sparkling purple ink.
I couldn't help noticing that there weren't any pictures of me anywhere around.
Pansy came up behind me suddenly, talking in the little Lockhart temple.
"Wow," she said. "The extended edition of Magical Me. You know, there were only four of those printed. And it's signed too. Merlin. Who did your mother have to sleep with to get this thing?"
I told her I'd rather not think about that.
So now I'm sitting here and waiting for Pansy to bring up the food she went for. She won't tell me what she went to my mother's rooms to get. She's being all evasive and calling me by my pet name, so I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me. Well, I'll find out eventually, I suppose. I think I'll let it go for the rest of the night.
Maybe we can mess with Tyran some more. After all, what's the use of having the harassment queen spend the night with you if you don't use her for your own amusement?
Tuesday, September 1: Hogwarts Express, En route to Hogwarts
Monsieur Tyran woke us up early this morning, and it was all too apparent that he was blaming me for Pansy's actions last night. See! It's just like I said! I get the bad end of absolutely, positively everything!
Anyway, he was obviously in a hurry to get rid of us, since he was following behind us and whacking me across the legs with his birch rod whenever I slowed down. Like he was herding cattle or something. (Rude.) He finally loaded us into the carriage, looking rather relieved to be rid of me for an entire school term. You know, I find it amusing that he loathes me just as much as I loathe him. Pansy says we deserve each other. I really can't argue.
"Au revoir, Ennuyeux."
I'm not quite sure when Monsieur Tyran nicknamed me "Troublesome". He's just always called me that, off and on. It's a sort of pet name he has for me. Kind of like "stupid boy". Or "demon child".
We made it to the train in good time and managed to find Forrest, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle before we left the station. Maybe sharing a compartment with them wasn't such a good idea. Nott spent the first half of the trip holding me down and force-feeding me vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's beans. He said that just because we've made peace doesn't mean he doesn't still enjoy my pain. Pansy didn't bother to make him stop, because she was busy rushing through her holiday homework. (What has she been doing all summer?) Anyway, she just sat there and let Nott torture me. What happened to the "no one gets to pick on you but me" thing! I like that thing! It means I don't get beat on!
Anyway, the Draco torture went on for a while, until Forrest mercifully suggested that I go for snacks. As I hurried out, I think he might have winked at me. Bless his very soul.
I was quite content in the little nook I had found to sit in, and I think I might have been fine with sitting there for the rest of the trip, if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come bumbling by my hiding spot, calling my name and looking like very lost, very stupid puppies. They're so hopeless without me. It warms the heart.
As we would not all fit in the nook (not for lack of trying on Crabbe and Goyle's part), I was faced with a dilemma. Feeling that my only choice was to head back to the compartment, I started off down the hall. Then, they nearly gave me a heart attack.
"Hey," Crabbe grunted. "Why don't we just steal someone else's compartment?"
"Yeah," said Goyle. "We'll find one full of first years and just kick them out. What do you think, Malfoy?
I stared at them for a moment, shocked by this sudden show of intelligence.
"Crabbe! Goyle! You're absolutely brilliant!"
"Whahh?" Crabbe squinted at me, looking very confused.
Goyle stuck his wand up his nose.
"Never mind."
I decided to invade a compartment just down the hall. As we stepped in, all wearing our more intimidating looks, I noticed that the first years all cringed as one, trying to get as far away from us as possible. Now this was going to be fun.
The first one to speak was a little, mouse-like boy with a rather strange looking camera around his neck.
Mouse-boy: Umm… H-hi. I'm C-Colin Creevey. What's- What's your name?
Goyle: GRAAARR!
Mouse-boy: Eep! (cowers in corner)
Me: All right, everyone. If you would all clear out of my compartment…
Unimportant First Years: (flee in terror)
Mouse-boy: It's not y-your compartment! We have as much right to it as you do! Y-You get out!
He didn't seem to realized that there wasn't any "we" left. He just stood there, trying to look defiant, and I found that I couldn't help liking him just a little. Finally, however, I came to my decision.
Me: Crabbe, please fetch Mouse-boy's jaw for me.
Crabbe: 'Kay. (lunges)
Mouse-boy: AAAHH! (pauses) (holds up camera)
Camera: (FLASH!)
Crabbe: Rah! My eyes!
Mouse-boy: (runs away) YAAAH!
We all stood there for a moment, staring after him. Imagine. Bested by a camera! Pitiful.
So, I've spent the majority of the trip trying to keep Crabbe and Goyle from eating their own body parts. Uhh. Bodyguard sitting. And I'm not kidding. Crabbe and Goyle need constant supervision.
It's a thankless job, but I've got a lot of Karma to burn off.
Still Tuesday: The Dorm
Ginny Weasley's been sorted into Gryffindor. Now, there's a shocker. I am actually surprised by how much I am beginning to despise her. At first, she was just annoying, but now I think she might be just as bad as her brother. Don't believe me? Well, I bumped into her on the train, after my last entry, and let's just say it didn't go well.
I was walking around, minding my own business, when smack! I walked right into her.
Weasley (the girl one… err… Weaslette.): Oh, I'm sorry! I'm- (looking up) You!
Me: Yes, me. Sorry to disappoint you, Ginevra.
Weaselette: That's Ginny! No one calls me "Ginevra"!
Then why did she introduce herself using that name? She's so illogical it hurts me.
Me: All right, all right. Ginny, then.
Weaselette: And- And who gave you permission to use my first name, Malfoy!
Oh, sure! Now, she's decided to hate me. I didn't see this hostility before she knew who I was, you know. And the Weasley's claim that WE'RE prejudiced. Merlin, what a bunch of hypocrites!
Me: No one did, Weasley. However, I can call you whatever I want to. Do you have a problem with that?
Weaselette: I have a problem with you. You and your family think that, just because we aren't as rich as you, you can treat up like trash!
I don't know what the crazy bint was talking about. I haven't treated her worse than I treat anyone else. Obviously, someone's had a lesson in Malfoy Bashing 101. I'll say it again. Hypocrites! The whole lot of 'em.
Me: I don't treat you any worse than you deserve, you filthy little Muggle-lover.
She turned a bright red color, shaking all over with anger.
"Why, you… you horrible…!"
You know, I half expected her to come at me. That's what her brother would have done anyway. But she just glared at me for a moment, then stomped her foot like a two year old and stalked off. The feeling of joy that I get when I usually torture people just wasn't there. Maybe because she makes me just as mad as I make her.
Curse her.
Interestingly, no one can find Potter or Weasel-head. I hope they fell off the back of the train. It would greatly improve my day if they were reduced to grease smears on the tracks. I don't hold out much hope, though. My luck's not that good.
Wednesday, September 2: The Dorm
What a god-awful night. I don't get it. I didn't have a single one of those nightmares over the summer, and then I have one on the first night back? I'm starting to think that Pansy's right and maybe something weird really is going on. I mean, it would explain a lot, right? Then again, I really don't want to sink to her level. I guess I should start recording the dreams. Just in case, I mean. After all, if someone comes along who can help me, well, I'd better have them then! So, here goes:
This dream was different than they usually are. Instead of every little detail, I only remember pieces. I remember being surrounded by fire and not burning. And I remember wandering around and still not being able to go anywhere. Through the flames, I could make out the figure of a girl with long hair, dressed in an old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform, with her back facing me. I walked towards her and put my hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Then, all of a sudden, she whipped around, so that I could see her face. All I remember after that is screaming. Screaming and screaming and not being able to stop, not even knowing why I was doing it.
When I finally wrenched my eyes open, Forrest and Nott were standing over me, shaking me awake. Apparently, I woke them up with my yelling. (Crabbe and Goyle are very heavy sleepers. I could hear them snoring happily in the background, obviously not bothered by my screams of terror. Tch. Some bodyguards they are.) Forrest was wearing an expression of deep concern, and Nott surprised me with a slight show of worry on his face as well.
"Those nightmares again, Draco?" Forrest asked, sitting on my bed. "Did you stop taking the sleeping drought?"
No, I told him. I haven't. That's why having another nightmare is just so odd. It was like it forced its way through. Maybe that's why I only remember parts.
Nott was, of course, curious about what Forrest was talking about, so I had to explain it all to him. He stood there, thinking for a moment, before sitting on my bed beside Forrest.
"Do you think that has something to do with what happened to you last year? The vision or whatever it was that wound you up in the Hospital Wing, I mean."
Forrest started.
"I thought you fell and hit your head."
Then I had to explain the whole thing to Forrest, as well. He and Nott also made me tell them everything else. The ring, Pansy's "discoveries", Dumbledore's speech. They both seemed a lot more concerned about it than I am.
"It's nothing," I insisted for the umpteenth time. "Really, it's no big deal."
I turned off the bedside light, and Forrest and Nott made their way back to bed. I was lying there, utterly convinced that I wouldn't sleep at all, when I felt someone slide into the bed next to me. I turned around to look at Forrest, very confused by this strange action.
"My mother always lay down with me if I had a nightmare," He whispered. "It helped."
Now, there's just no competing with an idea in an orphan boy's head. I didn't say anything. Then, I got the shock of my life. Nott, who had slid out of his bed as well, jumped into the bed on the other side of me. When I asked him what he thought he was doing, he just shrugged and tugged some cover away from me.
And, you know what? It did help. It really, truly did.
Still Wednesday: Library
Weasley and Potter have shown up. Always their show-offy selves, they've gone and crashed a "carr" (Or maybe it's spelled "kar". "Car"? Yes, that looks right.) into the Womping Willow. Apparently, a car is something like a carriage, only it runs on "gass" (What?) and is made of metal. I swear to you, Muggles are truly odd creatures. Forrest isn't too good at explaining, either. I can't help wondering how he knows all of this. I suspect he's got a Squib relative that he's ashamed of. Who knows, really? If the Angelos want to hide a pitiful little Squib relation, why should I bother unmasking them. I happen to think Forrest is quite… nice. While that's not a quality I normally look for in my friends, I think he manages to pull it off splendidly.
To my glee, Weasley got a little present in the owl post this morning. A howler from his mother, which, I must say, has utterly made my day. You should have seen his face! It was absolutely purple with embarrassment! Oh, the joy. Oh, the sick, sick pleasure.
Draco Malfoy Goal of the Day: Laugh at Weasley's pain. Check!
Still Wednesday: The Dorm
You won't believe what's happened! I'm really rather amused. It's the return of Mouse-boy! And it seems that he's a Harry Potter fan, too! Who would have thought?
How did I find this out, you ask? Well, I was taking a walk in the courtyard after lunch, hoping to torture Weasley about his howler, when I spotted Potter. I really was surprised to see who he was talking to. It was, of course, Mouse-boy Creevey, looking as jumpy as ever. Thinking that this would be quite fun, I made my way up, just in time to here Mouse-boy make this suggestion:
"Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you. And then, could you sign it?"
Now, I ask you, how on earth could I pass this up?
"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
Potter froze, looking at me with an expression of horror. Horror, I've learned over the years of living in Malfoy Mansion, is a good expression when coming from your enemies. I decided to take it a step further.
"Everybody line up!" I shouted, enjoying my self more than might be deemed healthy. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
Potter glared at me, looking furious. (Ha!)
"No, I'm not! Shut up, Malfoy!"
Then, to my surprise, Mouse-boy spoke up.
"You're just jealous!"
Foolish, foolish little Mouse-boy. I'm not jealous of Potter. (Nor am I envious, because, you know, that would be proper English. Well, he is Muggle-born, after all.) I mean, what have I got to be jealous off? I mean, all the attention he gets, of course. And the fact that he gets his own little set of rules for conduct. You know, "No first-years can't play Quidditch, except Potter. No going out after dark, unless you're Potter. If you do this, you'll get expelled, if you're not Potter." And, I guess he does have friends who don't force feed him nasty foods or follow him around because they don't have anyone else. He's also got tons of friends, and people naturally like him, which never happens to me. And…
Dear God. I think I really am jealous (or envious, or whatever) of him! When did this happen?
"Jealous?" I hissed back, deeply offended. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you all that special, thanks."
After that, I just ended up sniping with Weasley for a bit. I did finally get to make fun of his Howler by doing what I think was a simply wonderful imitation of his mother's voice. (I'm very good at mocking people through imitation, you know. Everybody says so.)
About then, that blathering idiot, Lockhart, showed up. Feeling that he could do much more damage to Potter's ego than I could at the moment, I took that moment to slip away. I really enjoy torturing him. It really must be a complex.
Or maybe it really is envy. I can't really be bothered to ponder that right now. I've got to get a nap in before tonight. We've got Astronomy class. Blech.
Thursday, September 3: History of Magic
You know what? I've just realized something. I'm in second year and that means… Quidditch tryouts! I'd almost forgotten! Merlin, I'm stupid! Well, I'm going to be trying out tomorrow afternoon, since first practices are Saturday. I'm going to be a seeker and kill Potter! Then, I will point and laugh at him. Laugh, I say! Ha ha ha!
Thursday: Common Room
I'm not sure how I did in tryouts. I think I was fine, but Flint's the captain and he's not very fond of me. Also, Higgs left a real gap in the team, and they don't seem to think that a second year could fill it. Ah well. There's always that chance. (I sound like I don't care, but, really, it's eating me up inside. Don't tell anybody.)
While we were changing for tryouts, one of the blokes trying out for chaser made an observation.
"You know," he told me. "You have a scar on your shoulder that looks just like Snape's head."
I'd forgotten about that. I always thought it looked more like a duck, but I asked Forrest and Nott when I got back, and they both agreed with Chaser-Boy. They were quite curious as to how I got such a large, oddly shaped scar, and, while I admit I'm a bit fuzzy on details, I think it probably happened something like this:
Little Me: (climbing on a huge suit of armor)
Mum: Draco, honey, don't climb on that. You'll get hurt.
Father: Oh, let the little bastard play.
Suit of Armor: (falls)
Little Me: Ah! Help! I'm trapped beneath the armor!
Mum: Oh my god! What do we do, Lucius? What do we do!
Father: (smokes cigar calmly)
Mum: Oh, no! There's blood! (passes out)
Father: (picks up Mum) Just wiggle your hips a little Draco. It shouldn't be that hard. (leaves)
Little Me: Help… 200 pounds… metal… crushing… lungs!
Actually, it was Monsieur Tyran who ended up saving me. I'm sure he stood there for a few moments, weighting his options. ("Get some peace and quiet or keep my job. Hmm… Money… or peace?") Eventually, his need to be paid won out, and I was pulled from beneath the rubble. Who said greed never helps anyone?
Anyway, the scar is from where the sharp nosepiece caught me in the shoulder. It wouldn't have been so big (or Snape-shaped) if I hadn't tried to "wiggle" my way out. Once again, thanks to my father's wonderful advice, I ended up worse than before. You know, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now, and yet I continue to follow him blindly. Not that I mean to or anything. It's easy to think for myself before or afterwards, but when I'm standing there and he's telling me what to think and do, I just can't seem to say "no". Sad really. After all, I want to be able to trust my father. I want him to be right.
Ehh… enough deep thoughts. I'm hungry! I think I'll sneak out and scavenge for bits of dinner. Hey, just a thought here. Would Mini-Draco have a Snape scar on his shoulder blade?
Still Thursday: The Dorm
He does. Also, he has a birthmark in a place Pansy should not know about. My god, that's frightening. Let us never speak of this again.
Sorry about the lack of review responses in this chapter. I'm really very busy at the moment and, unfortunately, I'm wasn't able to get them done. However, that does not mean that I am not sincerely grateful to those of you who took the time out of your day to cheer me on. You are truly great people!
